Ode to a spotted dog

We said good-bye to Sapo yesterday. She was 14 years old. We got her when Steve and I first started dating, before I was sure we were actually dating. Steve asked me to go along with him to pick out a new dog. There were about 15 dalmatians to choose from, but only one with brown spots. So we loaded her up.

She was a total and absolute spaz from the moment we put her in the car. She was very ill-behaved, jumping and jumping and jumping on us, whenever we were in the house, so we named her Sapo, the Spanish word for toad. She was sweet and lovable, but wanted your complete and total attention at all times. On walks, she was the complete opposite from her at home persona, she was the well-behaved dog. She could walk off the leash most of the time, she always came back, never ran too far away. Sapo was never a barker, she was a howler, and she howled whenever she got left outside alone, which didn't happen often since we had 4 dogs. When she was about 2 she started having seizures. The first one was at about 5:30 in the morning, right after she ate breakfast. I, of course, thought she was choking, so I picked her up from behind and tried to do the heimlich manuever on her. Then we realized it was a seizure. We eventually got them mostly under control.

Last year, she began to show her age. She slowed way down on walks, didn't want to go as far, and had trouble getting up and down, her hips full of arthritis.

Last fall, she had a few really bad seizures that took her days and days to recover from, but eventually she did,but we knew it was a sign.

Last week, she had another really bad one, and she just wasn't recovering. So Steve made the tough decision (Sapo is technically his dog.) So, yesterday we said good bye. We will miss her.